


one man's crime is another man's fantasy

by kivancalcite



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Brutal Murder, Character Death, Claustrophobia, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isolation, Knives, Murder, Stabbing, Verbal Abuse, end of saw v referenced, his real death is referenced, hoffman doesn't hold back, hoffman's fantasies are clearly graphic no denying that, it's a major character death but fantasised, referenced injury, saw vi's reveal and murder referenced, strahm basically gets gutted, the description of the murders are pretty gory and brutal, they hate each other so much it's unbelievable, this man has lost all redeeming features just like the films, this man is absolutely malicious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28434915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivancalcite/pseuds/kivancalcite
Summary: Hoffman is clearly having a fantasy of what he wish he could do to Strahm if he wasn't such an important asset to the police department, where messy and gory thoughts abound and his desire to be more hands on exists, as opposed what he does as a Jigsaw apprentice and what image he's trying to preserve as part of law enforcement in the reality of it all. At the end of it all, this was what he had, who he was and the revenge he wanted on someone who dared to get in his way and tear it all apart. Nothing else mattered but that.
Kudos: 6





	one man's crime is another man's fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> I feel Hoffman clearly becomes someone who is just angry with everything and more and more of an insufferable jerk but knows how to cover up and present a good image, keeping all the true hands-on desires to himself (generally until it comes to a head in Saw VI) and finding Strahm to be a particular obstacle who will not stop getting in his way. He's more pesky than he thought.

Mark Hoffman wasn’t exactly known for doing anything with finesse. Despite the brutality of Kramer’s traps, though, at least he managed to have structure and a so called philosophy to his work. No one had really suspected him, and frankly this gave him more to do besides his police job. There seemed less of a thrill in just cold bloodedly murdering people in a more hands on sense when he was still upheld as a detective lieutenant.

Of course, he still wondered when things started to fall apart for him. He’d had a good run without suspicion for a while, but some prick had him figured out almost from the start which was not exactly what he needed. Of course, he was used to thinking on his feet, but frankly this wasn’t the way he wanted to go with things, even if he managed to lead him straight to his own demise without incriminating himself too much, he thought.

That goddamn Peter Strahm, the special agent who already took issues with him. Didn’t help that that man already had anger issues, even if he was clever enough to figure out the new Jigsaw apprentice identity. He already had other things to deal with without this shit.

It was easy enough to know he wouldn’t trust him, especially when his voice was on the tape in the other man’s hand. Pure bait really. Sure, the special agent had managed to bloody his face in the process, but shoving him in the glass coffin was the last laugh. Witnessing the agony of him having his bones split and his body crushed between the two walls seemed satisfying from where he was, his blood splattering like ketchup onto the glass top.

But he’d have to be frank, though it was easier to get away in his position with what he was doing with such underhanded techniques, it didn’t mean outright murdering someone right there so close up didn’t cross his mind. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have certain fantasies of graphically murdering particular people; Strahm, especially, seemed like he’d died at his hands hundreds of times already in his head.

He’d been able to properly do this to his work partner, Lindsey Perez, by the time he’d been found out to be the next Jigsaw apprentice. At this point, he was exposed enough as it is, but finally at least he was able to satiate his want for up close and personal murder by repeatedly stabbing Strahm’s work partner and get to watch the light extinguish from her eyes. That was twisted beauty of it all.

If he could, the idea of Strahm being led to a place, isolated from his co-workers, was already wonderful in of itself. He was intelligent but unfortunately hot-headed; someone to get out of the way. Sure, the glass coffin trap worked as intended, but he could at least dream. He wouldn’t kill him at first, but enjoy the idea of unnerving Strahm all the more to see him explode in frustration and anger as he investigated a particular building. 

Any attempt to contact any help from the outside would of course be shut down; standing in the shadows as he’d watch Strahm hear only static on the other end. He’d nonetheless traipse through the place, gun pointed ahead as his paranoia was reaching boiling point. No one would find him here, least of all before it was too late.

A shot would ring out from behind him. Maybe another. It didn’t have to be a thought out dream, just something to make this agent suffer. He’d stumble forward, inhaling sharply and shouting as a burning pain shot through his leg, blood dampening his jeans. It’d be as close to his foot as he could get in the dim light of the building, enough that the prick would be trailing blood behind him, limping. Even if he decided to find a way out, his injury would slow him down considerably.

He’d spin around to a degree, obviously angry and incredibly suspicious, but before he could react, Hoffman would appear out of the shadows, switching the lights on and displaying a cruel combination of contempt and sick satisfaction, shooting the man again and watching as he dropped his gun, stumbling around and grabbing onto his bleeding shoulder. He was already a whole mess of emotions without being shot, frankly enough, and seemed almost too easy to get rid of.

“ _I know who you are!!_ ” he’d accusingly shout, an expression of burning hatred on his face. He still remembered those last words as the walls closed in on the agent, unable to stop his fate unfolding. He remained silent, watching him be graphically crushed, his screams echoing in his head. But in this dream, he could back this injured man into a wall, unable to reach for his gun, menacing him with a knife and allow himself to indulge in his own response as he sliced it repeatedly through the agent’s stomach, a rough, choked cry of pain escaping from his throat.

“Oh yeah?” he’d reply smugly, baring his teeth in a sick gesture of enjoyment. He leaned forward, his face now only inches from the other man’s to take in this bastard’s dying expression. The agent’s blood oozed red and slick onto his hands in the bright light of the building. “Why don’t you go and try telling your little friends about me yourself?” 

His eyes would shine even more threateningly in the cold, sterile light, almost wanting to laugh as he could see any anger start to dissipate and life ebb away in his eyes. If he was asking to die if that’s what it took to prove Hoffman’s guilt, he got the first part he wanted.

He’d shove the knife in one last time, Strahm’s body hitting the floor as he stepped back from him. Blood pooled on the floor around him. and covered Hoffman’s hands and the knife, but he’d feel satisfied. He’d smile grimly, breathing heavily and relishing in the taste of the blood of the damn bastard, his corpse lying against the floor almost like the classic crime scene chalk outlines.

Sure, Mark Hoffman wasn’t one for doing anything with finesse. But he preferred it that way, even if the Saw traps by Kramer’s standards provided him with a way out without being suspected. He wouldn’t approve, he remembered the philosophy. Kramer didn’t say what they were doing was murder, but where was the fun in that?

At least he was still able to dream about it. The ability to relish in murder without any consequences. At least he had that, at the end of it all.


End file.
